


Graveside

by OnWeGoForever



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Gen, Introspection, Magical Realism, life and death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21845683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnWeGoForever/pseuds/OnWeGoForever
Summary: A strange little cemetery in the woods draws Virgil's attention.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19
Collections: Sanders Sides Secret Santa 2019





	Graveside

It was pointless trying to remember how Virgil had found the clearing in the first place. He’d been walking in the woods for one reason or another when the paths started wandering from their usual place. He hadn’t noticed at first, too wrapped up in his thoughts and music until the trees thinned out and he saw it.

A small graveyard, with a rusted black fence and falling over archway stood in front of Virgil. Most of the headstones were little more than crumbling rocks, the names and dates worn smooth by the rain and wind and choked by twisting vines and overgrown grass. It could have been creepy at night, but with the soft sunlight coming through the leaves above, Virgil couldn’t help but think that it was peaceful. Being careful not to disturb anything, he left the path and walked under the collapsing arch into the little closed off area. 

There couldn’t have been more than twenty headstones, each struggling to stand tall from the mess they stood in, except for a small group near the back. They looked almost completely out of place, each one free of weeds and the words were deeply etched into the stones, as if they had been freshly engraved.

Picking his way over, making sure to not step on anyone’s resting place, Virgil stood in front of the odd group, pushed up near the back fence. There were four of them, three with names and dates and one blank without even a scratch on it. 

Those four little stones, lined up in their own little row behind all the other ones, Virgil couldn't help but be drawn to them. Each name on the stone that had them, he couldn't help but wonder how they each ended up in this small, out of the way graveyard. He almost wanted to take a picture of them on his phone but that would feel… sacrilegious, almost. Photos felt forbidden in this forgotten place. 

Still, he lingered in front of them for a while, taking in their details. The only reason he left when he did was a distant rumble of thunder, warning Virgil of the coming storm. Compared to the path he took getting to the graveyard, leaving felt like only a few steps before he was at the edge of the woods, the dark clouds overhead greeting him with rain. Running to shelter, he could already feel the plan for his next visit forming. 

The next week, Virgil was back out in the woods, bringing a sketchbook along to get the stones.

But, the more he looked for the cemetary, the more it seemed like it was getting further away, the woods staying firmly familiar and the trails not straying from where they should. 

Stopping with a huff at a fork in the path, Virgil tried to think back to how he found it in the first place. He hadn’t been looking for it, he’d just been… wandering. And the walk out had been so short…

An idea came to mind, and he pulled out his phone and headphones and found the loudest music he could. With the guitars going in his ears, Virgil started focusing on the music and beat, singing along under his breath and keeping his eyes off the trail. By the second or third song, Virgil felt his attention wander from the cemetery and by the fifth or sixth it had slipped his mind. By the eighth, he felt the shift, reminding him of why he was out here and startling him out of the Black Parade. 

The trails lead him away, twisting in strange ways until the trees thinned and he found himself in the same clearing. The same fence, patches of rust on the black iron, the same arch struggling to stay up. 

Walking into the place again, he saw the same little group of stones in the back corner like they were tucked away. Standing in front of them, it was hard to ignore how… other this place felt. 

Four bright, shiny graves, the newest ones here by a long time, yet the dates on them said that the occupants all died before Virgil was even born, the earliest one being around a year old, the oldest over a decade senior. The others, beaten down and worn smooth, a sentinel to those that there was someone there under the earth. 

The clearing itself was oddly quiet, just the rustling of leaves and a slight whistle to the wind. No birds or insects chirped or sang their songs. As far as he could tell, Virgil was the only living thing present. 

It felt eerie in a way. Otherworldly and ethereal, like no one was supposed to be here. But here Virgil was, slouched in front of them, taking in something that few would ever see. 

Before he could lose his nerve, Virgil sat down in front of the group, pulling his sketchbook out and setting it in his lap and getting a pencil that would suit his purpose. Utensil in hand, point resting just above the blank page, something seemed to stop him from actually starting.

The sunlight that reached them through the shifting clouds and branches above lit the stones beautifully, shadows dancing across the surfaces, the grass sweeping the bases. Like photographing them, this too felt practically forbidden. But, the allure was too great and the pencil finally came to the page, sketching their outlines and giving their names and dates. 

From left to right their final resting places came to be. Their names were the last to be added to the picture: Logan, Roman, Patton, and the lonely blank one. If Virgil had been in a more morbid mood he would add his own name to it, but that felt wrong in a way. Giving a name to a blank grave. 

The names and dates finally on the page, Virgil couldn’t help but wonder about the people the stones marked. They were all roughly his age when they died, and for whatever reason they weren’t buried with their last names. No inscriptions either, just first names and dates. 

Logan had died first and was the youngest, just barely older than Virgil is now. Patton was the oldest by a few years, and Roman was the most recent addition, roughly splitting the age difference between the other two. 

Virgil wished he’d brought his colored pencils with him just to catch the shading just so. The sunlight fading gave everything a soft orange tint, inviting him to stay even as he packed up his supplies, and with a last backwards look over his shoulder, Virgil left the graveyard and again with a few steps, he was at the edge of the woods, looking out at the rapidly setting sun. Taking in the sight for a moment and seeing the orange fade into purple and deep blue, his resolve to return again hardened. 

The next time he returned, it had only been a few days. Putting his headphones on as he walked under the trees, he let his thoughts wander off immediately, turning them away from the cemetery every time it came close, and barely into the third song the paths turned away and lead him to the clearing and the graveyard.

It was an overcast day today, taking way most of the shadows and giving everything the same stark coloring coloring. It was still beautiful in its own way though, stripping away all distractions and leaving the stones naked in some strange way. 

Virgil was sitting in front of Logan’s stone today, trying to capture every detail he could. He could see slight flaws this close, light scratches on the side closest to the fence, and the A in his name had a slight chip in it. These were the only markings of age on the stone, despite it being over thirty years old. 

Sketching out the stone, Virgil couldn’t help but start to outline the type of person he thought Logan could be. 

Average height maybe, with straight dark hair slicked away from his face. A severe, angular face with with rectangular black framed glasses. A tie and polo, with a taciturn expression standing behind the stone that marked where he rested. 

Looking at the mostly finished drawing, Virgil swore he thought he could’ve seen this person before, but Logan’s been dead for over ten years, and Virgil decided to shade what little shadows there were to the best of his abilities instead of dwelling on it. 

When the picture was done, he admired his work for a few seconds before standing up and stretching. Looking up to the sky, Virgil saw that for once nothing would chase him from the clearing and he hefted his supplies up. Checking for one last time that he had everything, he gave a little half wave to all the stones as he stepped through the arch and was at the edge of the woods once again. He had a soft smile on his face as he walked away, a rare thing for him to do. 

It was early morning the next week he came, much earlier than he usually came, eager to get there get started on his other drawings. Getting to the cemetery, the yellow light from the early morning sun seemed fitting, standing in front of Patton. His stone was also just slightly damaged, standing in between Logan and Roman, one corner having an edge missing, the chip catching the light. The soft light might have influenced the way he drew Patton, yellow becoming a theme for him, like the starkness from the cloudy day for Logan. 

Patton was soft, shorter than Logan, with light, curly hair fighting any form of taming it. He had glasses too, but bigger and rounder. He had a small smile that made his eyes light up, and instead of standing behind the stone, he was beside it, resting one hand on top. 

He looked almost fatherly in it; something that made sense since he was the oldest when he died, almost in his mid twenties. The t-shirt that he was wearing morphed into a sweater, and somehow his expression became a little more bittersweet, like there was sadness lingering behind the smile.

It was almost noon by the time Patton was done, the last of the yellow burned away to a bright day, similar to the one when he’d found this place. Virgil could imagine he could hear the faintest birdsong in the distance, the sun bright overhead with no clouds in the sky. 

Before he could stop himself, Virgil scooted over to sit in front of Roman’s grave. His was the last of the named graves before the blank one. The only damage on it were a few scratches above his name, otherwise it was in great shape for being over twenty years old, the date marking Roman’s death around a year and a half before Virgil’s birth. The brightness lended something bold to the scene in front of Virgil, and he put his pencil to paper to start.

Roman was tall, almost as tall as Virgil and towering over Logan and Patton. He had messy, wavy hair over a strong face, a smirk playing over lips. He was standing next to his stone like Patton, but was practically lounging on it in a display of confidence, his eyes daring someone to say something, but also hiding something deeper too. His jacket was rolled to his elbows and his languidness hiding a nervousness to move and explore. 

Looking at Roman’s and Patton’s, he couldn’t help but compare them to Logan’s and find something missing from his. He was too stiff, too lifeless compared to the others. A thought came to Virgil, and he hid a smile and faint sparkle in Logan, like he was hiding it himself, all his excitement and only showing the severity.

Looking at the three pages, he was surprised at how lifelike he made them. Their eyes stared out at him, showing little bits of their personality in their penciled in faces. These faces conjured up from these graves, just names and dates creating these three people standing by their final guardian to the next possible life. 

It was macabre, taking the dead and creating other people out of it, but Virgil couldn’t bring himself to care. It was nearing midafternoon, clouds coming in and the sun beginning it’s descent to the horizon. 

Sitting before the final headstone, this one really did look perfect. No scratches or chips, the face was completely smooth. The graying day fit this one, and after a small internal struggle and compromise, Virgil drew himself. He wasn’t standing like the others and his name wasn’t on the stone still, but his shape slowly took to the paper as the day started giving way to night and thunder started rumbling again in the distance. 

He was seated like he was now, hunched in front of it, but to the side to show the blankness of this particular grave. His hair was falling in his eyes and the bags showed prominently on his face. His hoodie sleeves were pulled over hands, and his face looked like he was about to bolt and run away.

In a bit of wish fulfillment, he put a bit of hardness in there too. Like even though he wanted to run, he would still stay to the end if it was needed. This one was rougher than the others, done in half the time and light, but the character was still there. It was still his living face looking out at him, daring Virgil to make him move away from the nameless stone. 

Tucking away the pages, the last light of the sun was disappearing. He’d spent the entire day here and was feeling it. But at the same time, he didn’t want to leave. This strange little place, slightly out of step with the rest of the world felt easy. It was safe, like the stones and fence were protecting him.

Of course, he had to leave and as he stood, Virgil muttered a goodbye under his breath as he took the steps from the exit to the edge of the forest. Night had fallen and he needed to get home for now. 

After that marathon day, time felt different. Like the world had been holding itself still until Virgil finished his little task. Now the world was moving again, but like it was pulling Virgil forward instead of just going around him. 

He returned to the woods around a month later, walking the trails and not really trying to find the cemetery this time. The trails stayed where they should and Virgil didn’t try to encourage them to shift. 

His mind was wandering in a different way when he came to three people on the trail, trying to read a map. Two of them were arguing quietly, while the third watched the trees, butting in when the others got too heated.

They looked up when Virgil got closer and his heart almost stopped. 

Few details had been shifted around, Logan was taller than Roman, and Patton’s hair was more brown than blond, but it was them. The faces he’d drawn from the graves. 

The Patton lookalike cleared his and stepped closer to Virgil. “Excuse me, could you help us? We’re all a bit lost.”

It took a moment for Virgil to find his voice. “Sure, I know this place pretty well. What are you looking for?”

Logan stepped forward and said, “A graveyard, a strange little curiosity that’s said to show people-”

“Don’t ruin it for it him! It’s supposed to only work if you don’t know about it.” The third person jumped in, scolding. He turned to Virgil apologetically. “Sorry, I’m Roman, Specs is Logan, and that there is Patton. We’re looking for the graveyard for a project. Can you help?”

Virgil froze for a second, before a slow smile spread across his face. “I think I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> for the sanders secret santa 2019 for Ellied1 on tumblr. i hope you like it because i had a lot of fun writing it. 
> 
> thanks to djpurple3 on tumblr for the beta and title suggestion


End file.
